


An Étude for Sleep

by newyorktopaloalto



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 23:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17414909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newyorktopaloalto/pseuds/newyorktopaloalto
Summary: In the wake of another restless dream, a side-effect of his time on Vulcan, Archer heads to the mess for a little sleep aid. Reed, who seems to have not been sleeping much at all, interrupts his failing state of meditation.





	An Étude for Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place post- episode 4x09, Kir'Shara. Spoilers up to and including this episode. 
> 
> (I ship Reed with everyone, and I'm not really sorry about it at all.) 
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, the setting, or the series. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading!

Jonathan Archer woke up to a dream that was already light years away from where he could catch it again. He knew that this was a side-effect, that carrying the katra of a long-dead Vulcan would have some sort of side-effect on his equanimity—whatever little of it he usually possessed. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he listened for the gentle snoring of his constant companion; Porthos however had, as though sensing Archer's dreams, woken up sometime before as his hand dropped down to the edge of the bed, he felt Porthos nuzzle against the palm of his hand, a whine escaping the dog's mouth as Archer only gave him a moment to let him snuffle around his owner's hand. 

“Porthos, back to bed,” he commanded, pointing with a click over to where Porthos' bed was, and only sitting up in his own once the dog had settled into light sleep once more. 

Glancing at the chronometer, he debated whether or not it was too late to go to the mess, pick up a cup of something hot, and wander back to his quarters. Even it was, however, Archer didn't feel as though he would be able to stay here, restlessly staring at his ceiling until his alarm beeped for a shift he had been awake for, for hours. For a moment he debated putting on something other than the sweats and t-shirt used as pajamas, but as it was currently the middle of gamma shift, he had doubts there would be few enough people to actually see him about and sleep-disheveled. He shoved his feet into the pair of slippers that he kept by his bunk and stood, scratching idly at his stomach after he stretched his back out—the few cracks his spine made at the motions made him wince, but it did seem to ease at least some of the tension he had been holding. Making sure his light exclamation didn't disturb Porthos—the dog was staring at him balefully, and Archer shook his head in mute denial of the canine's want—Jon palmed the button to open his door and walked out. 

There was something comforting about walking the familiar halls of _Enterprise_ and Archer couldn't help but brush his fingertips along a bulkhead every now and then, if only to confirm he was still there, that her engines were still running, and that his crew was still alive and as well as could be. He passed only a couple of crew members on his way to the mess, most of them so engrossed in whatever work they were doing that they only gave their captain the most perfunctory of salutes as they passed him by at speeds his own slow pace felt exhausted even looking at. The experience of the last few days had left their physical toll, and Jon was only now regaining a vitality that he had previously considered abundant and limitless; the past year or so had shown him what his limits actually were as opposed to what he had thought they were. 

Walking into the mess hall, he scanned the room for anyone that might have been hanging about, and his shoulders slumped in minute gratitude that it was empty. He ordered a hot tea and, not wanting to walk back to his quarters when he could take a moment to sit down at one of the tables and drink his hot leaf water like a normal human being, decided to take a few minutes to do exactly that. 

Steam drifted its way upward from the mug and Archer watched it swirl idly, a lingering of a half remembered meditation in the back of his mind—he wasn't lying to T'Pol when he had stated that me might try and take up meditation after Surak's katra had been excised from his body, but he also couldn't find the equanimity within himself now that had seemed so easy before with the Vulcan philosopher in his head. He supposed, like it or not, that might be the difference. 

The door to the mess slid open, the pneumatic hiss startling Archer out of his idle thoughts, and he watched with narrowed eyes as Malcolm Reed, haggard and distracted, slogged his way over to the protein resequencer for his own mug of tea. Either Reed was tired enough to completely ignore Archer, or he had not noticed the man at all, and either way Archer felt a bolt of concern for the other man—this was, despite Reed's more relaxed self-protocol as of late, out of character for his tactical officer. 

“Can't sleep?” he asked lightly, leaning back in his chair as he assessed Reed. To the lieutenant's credit, he didn't even twitch as he turned around, though by the speed at which he did, Archer found it probable that Reed had, in fact, not even seen Archer at all. 

“Not for awhile now, sir.” Reed, who furrowed his brow at his statement as though shocked at his own candor, opened his mouth to, Archer assumed, equivocate, instead stopped himself at the last moment before the words left his mouth. It seemed to Archer that somewhere down the line, Reed had stopped caring so much about shipboard propriety, relaxed his own personal fraternization rule, but as to why that line had been crossed—a time period somewhere between the vastness of the Expanse and the secrecy of the Briar Patch—Archer couldn't guess at. “Not well. I mean—I _do_ sleep, but, just...” 

He trailed off, his darting gaze seemingly grateful for the interruption, as the resequencer beeped at him, and he took his tea from the small tray in the wall. 

“Not well?” Archer guessed wryly, and Reed gave him a half-grin, the shadows under his eyes probably siblings to Archer's own. 

“Exactly,” Reed agreed, shuffling forward to, Archer assumed, take a seat at the table he was currently occupying. At the start of their mission, Archer wouldn't have been able to believe Reed would act in such a fashion without express invitation—and even then would be recalcitrant in his agreement to sitting in such an informal way with his captain—and even a year ago it would still be a surprise; a surprise more welcome than Archer would like to admit, but a surprise nevertheless.

Now? It almost seemed like a natural progression of their relationship, both on a professional and personal level. 

Archer pushed the chair across from him out from the table with his foot, and Reed took the proffered seat with a sharp nod, his mug of tea hitting the table only a second before his body hit the chair; the armory officer almost seemed to sprawl out, not even bothering to close the distance between the chair and the table as he perched his left arm on the top edge of his chair. 

“What about you, captain?” 

“What about me?” 

Reed blinked and tilted his head, seemingly bemused at Archer's obvious inattention to their—admittedly paused—conversation. 

“What brings you to the mess hall at—” he broke off to glance at the chronometer on the wall, “03:47?” 

“Woke up and didn't want to go back to sleep quite yet,” Archer said easily, sipping at the chamomile tea with a grimace. Reed, as though showing off, took a hearty sip from his Earl Gray with a raised eyebrow as if to ask why he ordered tea if he was just going to complain about it—at least that was what Archer believed the slight smirk hidden behind the rim of the mug to be all about. 

“You were on beta, right?” 

Reed nodded. “And for some ungodly reason, which I can only assume to be some sort of loyalty to the rest of my armory team, I agreed to go back to alpha without a day between, to assuage an unexpected absence last cycle.” 

“Was it _your_ unexpected absence, Malcolm?” 

“If it were, sir, I wouldn't be complaining about it.” 

“Jon.” 

“I'll get there,” Reed agreed easily, waving whatever Archer could say away from him. “just not quite yet, I believe.” 

And though it wasn't a statement for anything more substantial than a more familiarized mode of address, Archer felt as though—maybe the wry smile on Reed's lips, the quirk of his brow, the ease at which the other man found himself with when tired and alone with Archer—it meant something like a promise. 

“I'll hold you to that, Lieutenant Reed.” 

Reed's other brow raised, but he hid whatever expression he might have held in busying himself with another drink of his tea. 

“I think I'm going to head back to bed now.” Archer stood up, draining the last of his tea before patting Reed on his shoulder and placing the mug on the overnight tray the chef left out for jaunts such as these. “Have pleasant dreams, Malcolm.” 

“You too.” 

Archer smirked a little as he left the mess, because while it wasn't a first name, it also wasn't a rank or title. 

His eyelids were already half closed as he keyed in his personal code, and Archer barely had time to kick off his slippers before his eyes closed of their own accord. Stumbling into the covers with a heavy breath Archer realized that—while not meditation—the tea and the talk might have just helped him regain that bit of equanimity he felt was lost to him after the katra had been transferred from him. He fell asleep with the lingering thought that he would have to try the experiment again with Reed, if only to make completely sure it wasn't only just the tea that had calmed him.

**Author's Note:**

> xoxo


End file.
